


Bird trapped

by AKZoey



Series: if I could, I wish everything would go back to what it was before [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Betrayal, Birds, Bittersweet, Cages, Dead People, Difficult Decisions, Disappointment, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Innocence, Insecurity, Red (Color), References to Depression, Relationship Problems, Teenagers, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKZoey/pseuds/AKZoey
Summary: When you were a kid, you did five art courses and you remember painting, urban and fantastic landscapes. The only problem, according to his father, is that the sky is always painted white and black. Would you frown on it for that, after all, was not that the color of the sky? It is then that you realize that you never knew the color of the sky. But years later, you forget all about this memory. And you lived, or at least try.





	Bird trapped

_I do not want to believe, so naturally I ignore my problems and continue living as if nothing had happened._

**5:02, Wednesday - cloudy.**

 

_He watches the sky and sings more loudly ... would it be a corner or a cry for help?_

 

It rains outside, the raindrops - which look like acids so strong that they are thrown into the air - are slipping out the window, making a run. You're looking almost hypnotically - because these things, though banal, are the only ones you have the luxury of paying attention to. It is less troublesome, his conscience whispers. It's easy to breathe, you think. They are just dripping, sliding one after another, without pauses, without problems and without the strength enough to make your head spin. The last drop of water slides and it does not take another 5 seconds to start the race again.

"You're tired?" Her mother asks, the tone always striking and firm. You quickly look away from the window to see her wiping her hands on a dish towel.

Something clutches the mouth of your stomach at this sight, as if suddenly you are out of breath, but it is not, you know, but you can not help but feel as if you had awakened from a nightmare and did not have a wall or something solid To be firm, it's so painful that you just want to take a deep breath and ignore everything else.

"Not." You mutter, rolling your eyes to the window. His fingers caressed the windowpane, _hungry_.

Ignore, that sounds good to your ears. But that's all, because no matter how much you try to close your eyes and pretend it's not real, you can not - you can not, because at any moment you risk breaking. And breaking means not only looking for your parts and sticking it all back, but facing everything that has broken and again pretending that nothing affects you. And that requires strength, courage and a good dose of ignorance.

 

**It's 5:30.**

 

The sun opens through the clouds gloriously. The clothes are on the clothesline, happy and free. Freedom, you admire the word in your mouth. You close your eyes, seeing several colorful dots in the darkness of the darkness. Your tongue spins easily practiced on the syllables, the feeling of being free, no family ties to pull you back, a bird without a cage - that feeling, is something you will never experience. You open your eyes.

You wonder why you were not born blind. Maybe if you had, you would have a good reason to pretend not to see the worried and reluctant look thrown discreetly at you. Of what, another broken friendship? Or just a failed relationship?

"You're tired?"

The question resounds in his head.

Open drawers, lipsticks eaten, hairbrushes in the vase that should be filled with flowers, clothes thrown to the floor, dirty dishes left in the corner, the bed unorganized and smelly. Why is this a _mess_ here?

Smiles are rehearsed in front of the mirror, large empty words repeated, a toothbrush full of lipstick and a hunger for attention hidden in the corner of a smile.

At this moment you realize that it will never be better than that.

Not in this world, not in your books and definitely not in your imagination.

 

**It's 06:55.**

 

_He looks at the sky and dream that he in is there, high, far ... He imagine that it has wings_

 

An open newspaper. Another war breaks out. A large number of deaths. A worthless motive. But the world keeps turning, well, ignoring. You open your loaf and put an exaggerated amount of jam - it's just a coincidence that it's red - for a moment you just look at your work of art. If you focus, you can almost see the organs and brains destroyed in the middle of the blood.

"I'm going to be late, do not wait for me." Father warns, sipping the sour coffee. The grade glasses placed strategically on the table so as not to tarnish, the shirt starched and clean.

Your brother yawns, his white pajamas without blemishes, making you look away for a moment.

"What is it?" He asks, rubbing his eyes.

The cereal is half eaten on the plate and drowned in milk, a waste you think of, when you know what your fate is.

"Nothing important." You answer and look at your own plate.

You should go to sleep.

The alarm beeps.

"Have a good day, dear." The mother kisses her father quickly. Just a touch of lips. But it's still enough to make him go away as if he'd taken a careless sip of coffee and burned his mouth. Maybe he did.

"Yes of course." He takes the briefcase and his glasses. The wallet carried in the back pocket. Do you want to know what he's going to buy for her today? Another shiny ring? Or maybe a purse?

You look at the mother, a beautiful woman, but no success in professional life, betrayed and bitter. And you do not think you want to be like her when you grow up.

"You two should not be in school?"

 

**6:58.**

 

As you to comb yourself in front of the mirror, you see paint brushes with dry paint left in disarray on the television shelf. For a moment you find yourself confused, until something burn into the corner of your brain.

When you were a kid, you did five art courses and you remember painting, urban and fantastic landscapes. The only problem, according to his father, is that the sky is always painted white and black. Would you frown on it for that, after all, was not that the color of the sky? It is then that you realize that you never knew the color of the sky. But years later, you forget all about this memory. And you lived, or at least try.

 

**7:00 sharp.**

 

You check the clock, your head spinning. The red bag is of very high value weighing on your back. You left your coat at home, inattentive. The brother did not say goodbye when he got out of the car, but okay, the boys will always be boys.

The silence in the car is tense. International songs are exchanged for slow and cheesy music. A murmur. A buzz A pause full of words in just an exchange of look. Distrust, heat, anguish and familiarity. You look away, an intensity of feelings that you can not bear to look at without feeling a deep guilt that corrodes you.

"Do not talk to strangers, okay?" She murmurs, opening her mouth for the smoke to escape. The cigarette holder is always hidden under the seats. You think then, as re never kneaded, and you have the sudden urge to ask for one, but hold yourself in time. Not because you are afraid that your mother would discover a little more mud in you have, but because you see the useless brand of cigarette. Complete crap, you sigh, but despite that, the smell is a little more exciting than you imagined, you breathe deeply, discreetly, feeling a forced and relaxed serenity, it makes your head spin and spin. You just realized that you closed your eyes when your mother's voice infiltrated your ears, scaring you. "And do not you dare accept anything from anyone."

You wonder if she realized this mistake, but doubts, seeing how focused she is on smoking her own cigarette. Almost with an edge of despair. You begin to think that your father does not know this fault, that little defect of his perfect and sweet woman. But you think your father has stopped caring for a long time to really pay attention to something involving all of you, of course, setting aside the picture of the perfect family.

"Did you hear me, girl?" Your mother calls you. She is looking at herself in the rearview mirror, imperturbable and holding a cigarette with a frightening familiarity.

"Yes, I heard you." You whisper softly, she reaches out enough to kiss you, the smell of coffee and smoke accompanying you as you leave the room and you see yourself standing in front of the school.

She does not even say goodbye, she just accelerates and go away. It's _all right_.

You turn in the opposite direction, making such a familiar path and entering an alley. You drop the red tie and open the first buttons on the shirt. The skirt goes up a bit, but you do not try to lower it. Her virgin fingernails ran through her hair, releasing them. Layers and layers being released.

The scent of marijuana floods his being. So you feel like you can finally breathe.

 

_Wanna be free..._


End file.
